


The Only Two Real People They Know

by EveryoneHasAmnesia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU where Franklyn doesn't die, Anal Sex, Bottom Dr. Frederick Chilton, M/M, Mid S3, Top Franklyn Froideveaux, cheese whiz, insecure body image, little bit of oral, weight mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryoneHasAmnesia/pseuds/EveryoneHasAmnesia
Summary: Dr. Chilton interviews Franklyn as part of his research for his "Hannibal the Cannibal" book. They have more in common than he would have thought. Not everything has to be a game; sometimes, it's enough to enjoy something good.
Relationships: Dr. Frederick Chilton/Franklyn Froideveaux
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Hannibal Flash Fic #003





	The Only Two Real People They Know

“Thank you for joining me, Mr. Froideveaux.”

“Please, call my Franklyn.” 

“Franklyn,” Dr. Frederick Chilton acknowledged. He leaned back in his chair. He had a notebook open on his lap, angled so his interview subject couldn’t see what he wrote, and a tape recorder on the table between them. They were in his office, but not at his desk. He had a small side table he kept for situations when he didn’t need the authority of the full oak paneled desk behind him to make the conversation go his way.

The man on the other side of the table gave him a small smile. He was well dressed, well groomed, in all appearances a highly reliable source for Frederick’s new book. Hannibal the Cannibal was already mostly completed, but he was still hunting down the last few interviews to plump its pages with juicy details. More than simply being well put together, Franklyn had a very earnest, serious look in his eye that reminded Frederick of a student. Franklyn was aiming to get a good grade in Being Interviewed, more than likely a side effect of the anxiety that had plagued the man all his life. Nevertheless, Frederick was more than prepared to provide that gold star, so really, they were both getting something out of this. 

Frederick waited in silence for several moments. Finally, Franklyn leaned forward. “Sorry, I don’t know where to start. Did you have questions for me, or…?”

“A few. But I was hoping you could start us off with just a general overview of your time with Doctor Lecter. I’ll edit it down for the book, so feel free to say whatever comes to mind and only the pertinent details will be recorded for posterity.”

“Well, they’ll all be recorded.” Franklyn smiled. After a beat he said, “Because you have a recorder. I was just…”

“No, no, I see it. You’re right, of course.” Frederick gave a short, polite laugh. This was already the longest interview of his life. 

“Right. Well, I was referred to Dr. Lecter by my previous psychiatrist. He was the last in a long line of referrals. It’s not that my anxiety is particularly acute--I mean, it is, or can be. It’s more that it’s very persistent. Resistant to interventions, either medical or through therapy. Before Dr. Lecter, I always felt bad about that. These people were trying their very best to help me, and I just couldn’t respond.” 

“What changed with Dr. Lecter?” 

“I, uh. I told myself it was paranoia, at the time, but looking back on it I think I was right. He was getting bored with me. All my other professionals felt like they were at the end of their ropes when they referred me out. He never seemed like he was that concerned with my progress. Or failure to progress. I went to Dr. Lecter because he had such a history of treating complex or difficult cases, but I don’t think I was the right kind of difficult for him.” 

Frederick looked up from the notes he was taking. So far, he’d written ‘Tends to repeat himself a lot.’ “Oh?”

“Well, a few of his other patients… have had difficulties, haven’t they? With the law?” 

“Yes, that’s right,” Frederick said. “I go into it a little more in my book, but yes. Not all, by any means, but a significant portion of his patients did not achieve an ideal recovery, shall we say? I’ve interviewed one other. The rest didn’t return my calls.” 

“Oh.” Franklyn looked just a little disappointed. 

“Of course, I wanted to interview you the most.” Frederick said this mainly to soothe the man’s injured pride. 

“Because of Tobias,” Franklyn said. 

“Yes,” Frederick nodded. “That’s a big part of it. A source leaked some of your statement to the police following that attack. But I’d like to hear more of it in your own words. If you’re comfortable.” 

“I don’t remember all of it. Apparently, under times of great stress your brain literally stops forming memories properly. And I was extremely stressed. Tobias arrived. I knew he was sick, but he was a good friend of mine, I cared about him. I still… wish more than anything that things were different.”

Franklyn reached into his satchel bag at the foot of the table and took out a bottle of water. 

“Oh, I can get you a tea,” Frederick offered, but Franklyn shook his head. 

“No, thank you. Just water is perfect. So, yes. I was in a session. Dr. Lecter and I were talking about Tobias, I think. It’s a little fuzzy. But then Tobias just showed up. I think he said… hello. And Dr. Lecter said hello. Tobias was bloody, a mess. I got up and told him everything could be okay, he could get out of this, and then he took a step forward and Dr. Lecter took a step forward and they just… fought.” 

“And what did you do?” 

“Nothing,” Franklyn’s voice was a low whisper. “I didn’t do anything. I was just frozen. I couldn’t even look away when...” 

He looked haunted. Brown eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. A man defeated. Frederick waited him out again. Franklyn Froideveaux was the kind of man who needed to fill the silence. Frederick surprised himself with a small pang of sympathy for the man. He was a victim here; at least the man Hannibal had killed was a killer himself. Franklyn was looking for help and got to see his psychiatrist murder a good friend. 

Sure enough, Franklyn couldn’t let the moment stretch too long. “When Dr. Lecter killed him with a statue. I saw that whole thing.” 

“And afterwards?” 

“Dr. Lecter told me to call 911. But I didn’t move, so he got up. Went to his desk, and then said…” This time the pause was shorter. Franklyn still liked to trail off, but at least he seemed trainable. A shame his team had had such little success taming his neurosis. “He said that you can’t get blood stains out of cherry wood. I would have to come lift the receiver for him, so he could call 911 without getting the desk dirty. His hands were… everything was just a mess.” 

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“And did you see Dr. Lecter again? I know you were taken aside when the police came.” 

“We had one last session. A few weeks after all of that. I’d been planning to resume my therapy, but I just couldn’t. I think our session was only 15 minutes, and I spent most of it asking for a referral. He gave me one, but I ended up not taking it. I just called my insurance and started with the first person they recommended.” 

“What changed? If you came back intending to resume your therapy…” 

“He’d fixed the room. Scrubbed everything. He must have had to throw some things away but if he did, he replaced them with identical things. The room was set up the same way. The statue was back on the pedestal. The one he’d used to break a man’s skull. It was unnerving.” 

“Did you tell him how you felt about that?” Frederick sat forward, eyes boring into Franklyn’s. Finally, something juicy! 

“Yes. I said I wasn’t comfortable pretending this never happened. He said he wasn’t pretending that at all. But he wasn’t going to let his life be knocked off course by the actions of a maniac. I asked how he could sit there, in the same chair, by the same statue, and he just looked at me. I remember his exact words. “Being bathed in horror is a choice. Not all of us choose the same.” I remember because it was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. All I could think of was getting out of there.”

That was a good quote. It would be even better out of context. Frederick scribbled that down. 

“Thank you, Mr. Froideveaux. Franklyn. This has been highly informative.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Franklyn asked all in a rush. “Off the record.” 

Frederick raised his eyebrows. “Sure.” 

There was another pause, and then the doctor leaned forward and turned the recorder off. “Completely off the record.”

“Dr. Lecter asked me once if my interest in Tobias was… sexual. I said no. That wasn’t true. I’d never acted on it, and I don’t think we would have been a good couple--I mean besides the murder, I didn’t know anything about the murder but it is a deal breaker for me! For sure!” Franklyn laughed. “Only. I liked Dr. Lecter too. Obviously, again, never going to happen, at most, I thought we were similar enough to be friends! You know, if we’d met any other way than patient and doctor, we liked cheese, and the opera, and just… Do you see what I’m saying?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Frederick said. He was frowning a little at Franklyn, and then smoothed the expression out when he saw the other man recoil. “But go on. I’m afraid I just don’t know what you’re asking.” 

“I liked two men who turned out to be monsters.” Franklyn gripped the edge of the table. His knuckles were white with the force, and Frederick felt a wave of pity. “Is there something wrong with me?” 

“I don’t think so, Franklyn.” Frederick folded his hands. “You prefaced all of this by saying that murder is a deal breaker for you. I quite agree, as it happens.”

“But what if I’m just saying that. I mean. Two? Two of them?”

“Once is chance, twice is coincidence,” Frederick quotes the proverb and stops short of ‘thrice is a pattern.’ “You’re an unlucky man. But Tobias Budge and Hannibal Lecter had more in common than being killers. You might as well ask if there’s something wrong with you for liking men in suits. Pretentious men. Men who have a similar degree of affluence and social standing as you. Men who share your interests--which happen to be good cheese and good art. There are millions of men who could fit that description. I am fond of cheese and art and suits, and I’m not a monster.” 

He didn’t used to be, anyway. He wasn’t before everything that had been done to him.

“But I’m not attracted to all men who like good cheese and art. I really… prefer women, on the whole. Not that it never happens, but two of the men I’ve been most strongly attracted to in years?” Franklyn looks at Frederick with entreaty. He wanted to believe, Frederick thought, probably wanted it quite badly but he couldn’t get there. 

Frederick drummed his fingers on the table. “People are… like trees,” he said, finally. It was not the best metaphor, but it would have to do. “Sometimes trees stand for a hundred years. They have leaves. They look great. You think you could make a house out of them, or a good cherry wood desk. But you don’t know. You can’t know until you cut them open. Then you might find that they are rotten to the core. You might find that animals live inside. You might find that it’s completely hollow, and that where the heart should be there’s just empty space.” 

“Now, I just met you. You’re not a patient of mine. But you strike me as a sincere person who wants to do well,” Frederick continued. “You aren’t rotten to the core. You don’t have a hollow in place of your heart. You don’t have animals inside you.” 

“Well, sometimes it feels…”

“Not like it does for them. The men I’ve worked with, the things I’ve seen. It doesn’t work to compare tragedies, but you’re a full person, Franklyn. Whatever ghosts might rattle in your halls, you’re real. Tobias and Dr. Lecter were never as real, and as full, as you are. If you liked them, it was because you granted them the grace they are incapable of extending to others. You saw them as people as vibrant as you are yourself.”

“Sometimes I wonder who else is real, then.” Franklyn rubbed his face with his hands. “If no one else is as vibrant as I am…” 

“Some people are. I am. But yes. In the line of work I do, I often feel like the only really present person in the room. At least today, there’s two of us here.” 

“The two of us. The only real people in the world. Now I feel a little foolish,” Franklyn said. He smiled, though, the relief palpable in his posture. There was a pinkish blush on his cheeks, and Frederick thought he may have laid it on a little thick. “Thank you very much, Doctor.” 

“Frederick is fine,” Frederick said. In for a penny, in for a pound. And the way Franklyn’s eyes shone at him… “As long as we’re off the record.”

“Okay, Frederick. And if you need anything else from me, just call.”

“I will.”

“Or if you want to tell me when the book comes out!”

“There’ll be a whole press junket.”

“Right. Well. Thank you for your time. Your insight.”

“It was my pleasure. Can you shut the door on your way out?”

Frederick sat back and considered his notes. The story was good. With a little editing, it could be even better.

\---

The next time Frederick saw Franklyn, he was trying to choose between a $30 block of cheddar and a wedge of Brie for $32. They both had their merits, and both would be eaten as part of a charcuterie board. A board for one, of course. Frederick wasn’t entertaining much these days, but he still enjoyed the artistry and care that went into preparing them. And he had some lovely resin-dipped boards that he’d ordered right before his life went directly into the shitter and he hadn’t used them for anything since. 

“Good choices!” A cheerful voice came from just above him, and Frederick grunted a vague agreement without looking up. There wasd a pause as whoever that was just stood there, waiting. 

“I especially like to use that cheddar as a base for the most amazing Macaroni and Cheese you’ve ever had. My southern grandmother passed down that recipe.” 

Frederick looked up, a little annoyed at the thought of grating up and baking aged imported cheddar to make a Mac’n’Cheese, only to find that it was Franklyn looking back at him. 

“Ah. Franklyn, hello. That sounds like a lovely recipe.” 

“It is! But I’m sure your recipe is great too.” 

“Oh, I don’t cook my cheeses much. This is for a charcuterie board.”

“Oh, excellent! Then you absolutely have to check out this Fourme d'Ambert! I served it at my last Oscar party--I know, a little silly, but it’s a wonderful night!--and the guests could not stop talking about it. You should try it! Your guests will love it.” 

“Well, I…” Frederick, suddenly, didn’t want to tell Franklyn that he was buying blocks of cheese to eat alone in his house. “I’ll have to change some of the accompanying meats and jams to suit the stronger flavor, but if it’s your personal recommendation…” 

“Oh, I can help adjust everything! This cheese is worth it. It’s really playful, just makes the whole platter a little more fun. You know what jelly is the best to serve with it? It’ll surprise you!” Franklyn was beaming, his round face alight, and Frederick found himself smiling a little too. 

“Let me think, ah, Fourme d'Ambert… Plum jelly would be the best I think.” 

Franklyn threw his head back, laughing with delight. “Oh, I guess I don’t have anything to teach you after all!”

“Maybe not, but… Let’s go over your list anyway. Maybe there is something we can learn from each other.”

Frederick ended up leaving the shop with enough cheese, jams, crackers, and cured meats to make a dozen boards for one. It did all sound very good, though. Franklyn had a knack for flavor combinations rivaled only by Frederick’s own.

\---

“It has been so great watching the show with you, Dr. Chilton,” Mrs. Amberg said towards the end of intermission. “Your insights are remarkable, absolutely stunning, and I’m so sorry to have to miss them for the second half.” 

“Oh?” Frederick swirled his intermission wine a little. He wasn’t all that surprised to hear it. When he’d bought the single ticket, he’d been hoping that the seat next to him would be empty. Mrs. Amberg had also bought a single ticket, and when she settled in beside him he’d found himself forced to make small talk while the most beautiful voices touring the country today were signing on stage. 

“Yes, my dear friend Kitty Hammel is here by herself, and the gentleman in the seat next to her graciously offered to trade seats with me, sight unseen. Frankly, I think he’s getting a better deal. His seat was a few rows back… But oh, the things we do for our friends!” 

Frederick gave her a cold little smile and finished his wine as the lights flashed to signal the three minute warning. “It was a pleasure to see you,” he said, and put his empty glass down on the bar to be cleaned. He walked away while she was still exclaiming how wonderful ti had been to see him again. 

This time he recognized Franklyn right away. The man filled the seat, his fine wool sweater by now his distinctive trait. He was looking forward, twisting the program in his hands with a classic worrier’s fidget. 

Frederick straightened his tie and came around the end of the row to take his seat. “Hello, Franklyn. We must stop running into each other like this.” 

Franklyn looked up, and he smiled. “Frederick. Hello! What a surprise. When that woman asked to switch seats with me, I didn’t know that I’d be getting an upgrade in sitting companions.” 

“Really? I heard you were sitting with Kitty Hammel. Not a date, I take it.” 

“No. I don’t really know Kitty, it just happened. She’s kind of standoffish. She shushed our neighbor on the other side for mentioning where he saw the lead tenor before. It was The Marriage--” 

“The Marriage of Figaro--”

“Yes! That’s right. I wanted to see that one, but I missed my opportunity. There are so many shows, it’s tough to see them all. I guess I really missed out,” Franklyn said. 

Frederick sat down. “Well. The tenor was good. But you’re seeing him now, so it all evens out. The rest of the cast was forgettable.” 

“Then I guess tonight really is my lucky night.” 

“I guess it is.” Frederick smiled at him. “Let’s hope it stays that way.” 

“Well… I have opera. Some good cheese at intermission. It’s everything I like. Except for the man in a suit.” 

It’s a little obvious, as pick up lines go. But maybe, for once, Frederick was actually willing to go for the obvious. Something a little easier. A bit nicer. “Oh, I don’t know. You might find one of those before curtain call,” he said. 

\---

“Turn the lamp off,” Frederick said. 

Franklyn was sitting on his bed. They were a charcuterie board and half a bottle of wine down, and they’d moved to the bedroom after some exploratory petting on the sofa. Frederick was untying his tie, which they’d already pushed off center, and was fussing over his rumpled shirt. 

“But it’s… really overcast tonight. It’ll be pitch black in here.” Franklyn said. 

“I know,” Frederick answered. Tie off. He untucked his dress shirt but made sure not to lift the tails of his shirt too far. He had too many scars he didn’t want to show off in the light of day. “We’ll manage.” 

Franklyn looked down at himself. “Oh. Alright.” 

“It’s not about you,” Frederick said. Then he felt bad, because why would it be about Franklyn? Because he was a little heavier? That didn’t bother him. If anything, Frederick preferred men with enough to hold on to. 

“No, it’s alright.” 

“No, Franklyn, it’s--It’s for me. Alright? I...have had a few run ins I’d rather not relive. That’s all.” 

“Yes, it was all over the news. I know what happened to you.” Franklyn looked up. “I don’t care about that. I knew before I came home with you.” 

“You haven’t seen it yet. And you won’t. I don’t even like to look at it in the shower.” Frederick picked at his cuffs, and when Franklyn didn’t turn the light off he looked up, exasperated. “Don’t you believe me?” 

“I do. But that’s sad to me, you know? That’s… not the way you should live. You don’t have to, not with me. We’re the real ones. Aren’t we?”

Frederick hesitated. “Yes, I… suppose we are.” 

He took his dress shirt off. He took the compression shirt he wore beneath it off as well, and there he was. Shirtless, in the warm yellow light of the lamp. His scar ran from beneath his breast bone all the way down to his naval. It was slightly crooked. Dr. Gideon’s skills had been on shaky ground when he went rooting around inside him. 

Franklyn took it in. He looked, seriously and respectfully, and then nodded. “After everything you said, I thought that this was going to be a lot worse.” 

Frederick joined him on the bed. He slid his hands up under Franklyn’s soft sweater and eased it over his head. He was warm, solid, and unlike his displayed anxiety, now that they were together on the bed he acted with only minor hesitation. 

Franklyn wound his arms around Frederick’s back and pulled him into his lap. They leaned back against the headboard, kissing, hands exploring the curve of hips and skin. Franklyn smelled of some expensive cologne, a little like cedar and a little like coffee. Frederick worked his hand through Franklyn’s chest hair, then down to unbutton his pants. 

They hadn’t talked about this part. What came next. Frederick was willing to put the work in himself, but after a few minutes of kissing, Franklyn wrapped one arm around his waist and rolled them both over, pressing Frederick back into the pillows. 

“Where do you keep your supplies?” he asked, voice soft in Frederick’s ear. 

“Bedside table. Lube and condoms,” Frederick answered. His voice was a tad breathless, and Franklyn grinned at him before he went to fish out the small packet and bottle. 

“Is anything painful for you?” Franklyn asked. He slid the bottle of lub between his soft thighs to warm it, and leaned over Frederick, fingers ghosting down his chest, his stomach lined with a scar, to his hip. The light touch sent shivers through Frederick that made it difficult to answer the man’s question. 

“I’ll tell you if it is. But anything should be fine, as long as it’s not too rough.” A pause. He lifted his hips, allowing Franklyn to slide his briefs down and off entirely. “A little rough is fine.” 

Franklyn chuckled, and slid down the bed. He stood, slipping off his boxers, and Frederick got a look at a good sized cock. Pretty thick. Ambitious to think he was going to take all that, but he’d never been a quitter. 

Franklyn climbed back on the bed and bent. He kissed Frederick’s hip, then lower, moving quickly and easily to his cock. The man’s beard tickeled, and Franklyn didn’t let it drag like sandpaper over sensitive skin. Between his warm, wet tongue and the tickle of his beard, Frederick felt his cock twitch hard and then stiffen. Franklyn lapped a line down the shaft, swirled his tongue around the head, and then started back down. 

Frederick laid back. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on just the sensations running through him. When Franklyn spread his knees further apart, he obliged. When Franklyn’s lubed finger pressed against his hole, Frederick took deep breaths and tried to relax. The difference that bringing the lube up to body temperature made was fantastic. 

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” Franklyn said, and Frederick just nodded. He could feel the tension coming on, and refocused himself as just the sensation. After a minute he reached up and gripped his pillow. 

It had been a long time since anyone had touched him this way. Since he’d gotten laid at all, but also since he’d let someone just take him, take their time, work their way inside. Franklyn, with his nerves and his earnest sincerity was getting further than Frederick would have guessed. It was how trustworthy he seemed. How careful. If he fucked anything up the poor man couldn’t live with himself, and that assurance, that care-- oh, shit. 

Franklyn was in him now, and Frederick’s mind shut the hell up for once. He didn’t have to try to concentrate on his body anymore; he bridged the dissociation that had plagued him since his injury (which had been beneficial at the time, of course, the mind’s way of distancing itself from agony) in a blink. 

“Oh. Oh, Franklyn, fuck.” There were two fingers inside him now. Moving hard. Curling, seeking that spot deep inside. Frederick rocked his hips experimentally, and was rewarded by a burst of pleasure. “Yeah. Yeah, right there. You keep doing that and I can just… I’ll just…” 

Frederick groaned as he angled himself. As he fucked himself with Franklyn’s fingers, feeling the stretch and the fullness and that sweet overload of sensation when he hit the perfect spot inside. His breath was quickly getting louder, coming faster. When Franklyn took his fingers out of him, he almost cried with frustration. 

“I’m close!” 

“You’ll get there.” Franklyn finished putting on the condom and climbed onto the bed, lining himself up. “You’ll get there with my cock inside you.” 

“Your cock doesn’t curl!” Frederick bitched. 

Franklyn just rolled his hips forward. Frederick was right, his cock didn’t curl, but it didn’t need to. It was bigger, thicker, pressing up without needing extra manipulation. It wasn’t just that, though. Franklyn’s weight pressed down on him. He was pushed into the mattress, into the pillow. The force of Franklyn’s thrusts moved Frederick on the bed, and there was a lot to say about the motion of the ocean. 

“Oh, fuck. Shit.” 

“I told you,” Franklyn said, and there was that light hearted chuckle there, the delight of liking the same plum jelly present now, and Frederick didn’t know the last time he’d been fucked by someone he was sure liked him. As a person. 

That didn’t make him cum, but it was in the back of his mind when he did just a few minutes later. His fingers dug into Franklyn’s back, his eyes rolled back, and he came with a shout from the pit of his stomach. 

Then he lay back, panting, on the bed while Franklyn finished himself with a few more strokes. 

“Stay for breakfast,” Frederick said. Franklyn’s cock was still inside him, and he smoothed the man’s thick curls back from his face. “I’ll make you anything.” 

“Plum jelly on pancakes?” 

“I think I can manage that.”


End file.
